


Red and White

by TheArchaeologist



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Murder, Snow, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: The snow is heavy and quiet, and Loki is drifting.





	Red and White

It was that kind of quiet snow, the kind where the entire world vanishes into the icy mist, curtained away by snowflake upon snowflake. The wind was quiet, calm, gentle, neither catching sound nor bending trees. The whispers of soft crackling, sounding almost as if the air itself was freezing, is the only thing to reach Loki’s ears. 

He is spread on the ground, back wedged deep into the snow. Hours, maybe days have drifted silently by, allowing for each gentle snowflake to build around him, over him. His hair is soaked and splattered around his head like raven feathers, his hands are stiff and fingers numb. Long has the feeling in his legs abandoned him, lying useless with only the toes of his boots peaking from beneath his white blanket.

Somewhere, possibly far away possibly near, perhaps now buried beneath the snow not to emerge until the first kiss of spring is a dagger. He had not the time to examine the blade properly, he had simply been too preoccupied, but the object had been of fine make. It was long and slender, with a lovely carved handle of jade green. Of Jotun origin maybe, going by the thin nature of the blade. But the Dwarfs were also skilled in metal crafting, so it may have been their handiwork. Loki had many enemies, and this one had caught him unaware, so he would likely never know for sure.

He wondered if his satchel was under the snow as well. Unless his attacker has sought to rob him, it presumably was. Although the bag was leather, he had no doubt that the snow and ice water would have worked its way inside by now. His book, his brilliant tome with illustrations filled with all the colours of the Nine Realms, must for certain be ruined beyond repair. 

A wolf echoed a lonely cry somewhere off in the forest, a long drawn-out howl of longing and despair. Maybe it was hungry, Loki’s idle thoughts supplies fruitlessly, and he felt his lips, cracked and bleeding, open as if to reply. As if he was going to respond with his own scratchy song. ‘Don’t worry!’ It would say, “I’ll be dead soon, you shall feast then!” He was for sure going to be left here for the creatures of the wood to dine. Never found by those few who would wish for his body for the selfish desire of funeral.

The red around him had become a deep, somewhat beautiful shade of crimson. Stretching out like veins into the ice around him, if one was to look from above they might compare it to the wings of a butterfly. Not the butterflies of the palace gardens though, the ones with emerald and gold wings so thin, so light, that one felt that they could breath and the entire creature may collapse dead. Loki was not of emerald or gold. Black suited him better. Green too, if he could be greedy and choose his own skin. He would not dance ballet between roses, like feathers on the wind. He would drip blood from the thorns, trailing it, dragging it behind him like some heavy corpse. The blood around him was his mark of ever present death. Like the roots of a rotting mould. Like the fingers of an overpowering fungus.

Far away, through the forest and up the side of the mountain, another voice joins the wolf. It is not a beast of four legs, though it is wrapped in as much fur. While one supplies a chorus of anguish, this one carols fear. 

The snow is thick and the sound muffled, and Loki allows himself the time to die without the fuss and grief others might bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Look when I get stuck with my stories but have an itch to write, I kill characters. Don't judge me, ok?


End file.
